


Strong Women

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships (Past), Alternate Timelines, Coming Out, Drabble, F/F, Fem!Sherlock, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay!Watson, Genderbending, Homophobia (mentioned), Kissing, Violence (mentioned), fem!Marcus, i blame hayley kiyoko entirely, male!Joan, the first genderbend i've ever written it's very exciting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:36:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8569837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: Shirley Holmes and Detective Marie Bell.





	1. Chapter 1

Shirley Holmes and Marie Bell were quite possibly the two most respected people in the precinct.

Detective Bell was strong, calm, intelligent and brave; the ideal cop. She was fit and muscular, wore suits and loose-fitting shirts, and wore her hair back in braids. She took nobody’s shit, not that anyone ever tried to pick a fight with her, fully aware that she’d come from a rough background and knew precisely how to gain the upper hand in any situation without breaking a sweat.

Shirley Holmes was, at least upon first inspection, the opposite of Detective Bell. She was English, spoke with cutting and unapologetic wit, came from a wealthy family and always wore dark and expensive outfits that had been tailored to her figure. Her blonde-brown hair was generally worn back, for purposes of practicality rather than attractiveness. Upon meeting her, many people– mostly American men– made the mistake of belittling her because of her gender and her nationality. But they didn’t know about the tattoos under her clothing, the kind of struggles she’d overcome, or what she was capable of.

They always, always, learned the error of their ways.

Where Detective Bell had streetwise toughness, Shirley had her deductive skills and massive intellect, and the ability to detach herself emotionally from both situations and people. In terms of personality, they were unalike in almost every respect; yet, upon seeing them work together, it was quite apparent they had the same sense of goodwill and morality, and a desire to do good. Shirley also did what she did because her intellect demanded stimulus, though she could have found stimulus elsewhere if a change in life demanded so; Detective Bell did what she did because it was her job, and her duty.

Despite their differences– and despite the fact that strong women, when paired, often do not cooperate at first– they had both found a home in the precinct, in their own ways.

And, in the friendship that they offered one another.

 

***

 

“D’you respect me?”

Shirley looked over to where Detective Bell sat at the wheel of the car. They were on a stakeout, again. It had been at Marie’s insistence that Shirley stay in the car and not simply break into the house as she wished she could.

“What?” Shirley asked.

Marie scoffed, unimpressed. “You heard.”

“You know I respect you, there’s no need to be obtuse.” Shirley responded flatly, returning her gaze to the house they were surveying. Marie glared dryly at her.

“Yeah, I suppose. But…”

“…But what?”

“Guess I kinda feel like you respect me ‘cause of what I can offer. My skillset, my assets, what I bring to the job.” Marie looked out the windscreen too, no heat in her voice. She was, more than anything else, curious about the budding friendship she had with this strange woman. “But d’you respect _me,_ as a person?”

Shirley frowned, not quite able to fathom the point of this conversation. In her mind, the work was of utmost importance. Relationships with others, since James Moriarty, had been difficult, and generally unwanted. Which was why she sometimes found it difficult to communicate with Detective Bell, found it hard to operate on a level that was based less around professionalism and more around friendship.

“…Why?”

Marie chuckled, slid both her hands onto the steering wheel, and tapped her thumbs on the hard plastic. “’Cause we’re friends. And I’m curious as to what goes on in that head of yours.”

Shirley sat in silence, wondered how to respond. Wondered how to articulate an answer.

Eventually, Marie sighed, accepting that, once again, she had come up against the Wall of Holmes.

“Nevermind,” she began.

“I respect you immensely.”

Marie looked over at Shirley, surprised. “…That right?”

Shirley nodded, still looking out at the house.

“Of course. It takes a tremendous amount of strength to succeed as a woman in the police force, and I know you’ve made your way to where you are by winning-hard fought battles. I was given everything from birth, and I chose to throw it away, but…” she drew a slow, thoughtful breath, “…you’ve never been given anything for free. You had to work for everything you have.”

Marie stared at her, shocked into silence. Shirley twitched, fidgeted, uncomfortable. She wasn’t used to emotional declarations of this nature.

“Well, damn.” Marie smiled, voice quiet. “Thanks, man.”

“I’m simply being honest.” Shirley muttered.

They lapsed into silence, which was normal, for a stakeout. It was also normal for them; they’d become comfortable with each other, over time.

“I respect you too, y’know.” Marie said.

Shirley squinted, still looking straight ahead, in the mildly irritated way she did when she didn’t quite know how to handle a situation. “…Alright.”

“I reckon you’re a strong woman too. You’ve got guts, and you've been through shit I can't even imagine. Makes you a pain in the ass sometimes, but hell if you haven’t got bigger balls than most of the guys we work with.”

Shirley looked at her, surprised. Marie looked back at her, grinning.

“Thank you. I suppose.”

Marie laughed. “Just bein’ honest.”

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Shirley found Marie sitting in a bar, her face still peppered with small gashes. Her right eye was somewhat swollen, and she was looking mournfully down at her beer.

“How’s the concussion?” Shirley asked.

Marie looked up, surprised. She sighed quietly, in a tired and weary way that plainly suggested she'd rather be alone. Despite the obvious edge of annoyance to her actions, Shirley took a seat on the barstool beside her.

“Thought you didn’t come to places that served alcohol.”

“I don’t, generally. But I am concerned about you, and that merits some level of resilience on my part.”

Marie smirked. “Thanks.”

Shirley nodded, hands tapping on her thighs as she tried to figure out what to say. Otherwise, she was sitting still, a strained look on her face; she and Detective Bell had, over time, exchanged overtures of friendship that had brought them closer together as colleagues and acquaintances. This was a delicate situation, and she was unused to feeling such worry regarding the feelings of others.

“You are aware that, in order to identify the person who made an attempt to frame you and take your life, I will need to investigate you thoroughly.”

“Yeah. Ain’t that what you’re doin’?”

Shirley nodded. “I need to know more about the people you’ve been close to, in your life. The people you’ve been romantically involved with.”

Marie, who had been lifting the beer to her mouth, stopped. She put it back down, and took a slow breath.

“Have you, in the past, had a relationship with Officer Paula Reyes?”

“Yeah, once.” Maria’s voice was hard. “What’s it to you?”

“The investigation-”

“She ain’t a part of this. It’s been a long time since I dated her, a’ight?” Marie snapped.

Shirley turned to her, a depth of understanding in her eyes Marie had not expected.

“I understand you’ve not come out to the rest of the precinct, and I fully respect that this difficult for you to discuss openly. But you are my friend, Marie, and I refuse to allow your comfort to take precedence over your life.”

Marie glared at her, jaw set. “She’s got nothin’ to do with this, Holmes.”

“Be that as it may, other ex-partners of yours _may_ have something to do with this. I’ll need their names.”

Marie continued to glare at her, but she knew that Shirley was only talking sense; she was shaken by this attempt on her life and her reputation, and her instincts as a cop told her that it wasn’t over. There would be another attempt, and possibly next time it would be more successful than the drive-by shooting. She didn’t want to talk about her private life, because she reserved the right to keep that her own goddamn business, but… Shirley’s face was soft, kind in a way that said, _I know how you feel._

“…Alright.” Marie said, turning back to her beer. “Fine. I’ll give you names.”

“Very well.”

Marie took a pull of the beer, winced with the pain that tipping her head caused. The whiplash from the crash was still raw.

The bartender came by and asked Shirley if she wanted a drink. Shirley said no, but stayed where she was, and Marie wondered why she was hanging around. Just as she was about to ask, and ask whether she could be left to marinate peacefully in her misery, Shirley said,

“I’d never before deduced it before, you know. If it gives you comfort. I’d never realised you were-”

“-a dyke?” Marie asked flatly.

Shirley frowned, looking personally insulted. “…Gay. I find the word ‘dyke’ distasteful, myself.”

Marie sighed, disappointed in herself for the knee-jerk reaction. It was the kind of internalised homophobia she’d learned religiously in childhood and was slowly learning to forget.

“Yeah, me too,” she admitted. Then, she shifted in her seat, and glanced again at Shirley, who was looking away uncomfortably. “So, you’re…?”

“Yes, quite.”

Marie pursed her lips, nodded. “…Huh.”

Silence fell, again, and this time it was strange and awkward in an entirely different way.

 

***

 

Shirley arrived home, looping her scarf around the coat hooks by the door, hanging her coat up as well. She felt odd, and wasn’t sure why; it wasn’t like she hid her sexuality through actual effort. It just wasn’t pertinent to her professional life, and did not need to be brought up in a working context.

Which was why the tightness in her chest was… strange. The fact she’d told Marie shouldn’t have meant anything, yet it somehow did.

“Hey, Shirley,” John said, appearing in the hallway with a mug in his hands, “How’d it go?”

Shirley considered him for a brief moment before speaking. John Watson was Japanese American, and possibly one of the most attractive people Shirley knew; his features were smooth and sculpted, cheeks dotted with freckles, his eyes dark and kind. He was currently wearing a collared blue shirt with faint patterns of Koi fish on it. He also looked quite happy.

“I see you slept with your ex. How was he?”

John didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a near thing. “How’s Marie, Shirley?”

“I’m glad you’ve finally had sex, it was about time. You’ve been quite crabby of late.”

“Avoiding the question won’t help with whatever you’re nervous about.”

Shirley turned from the coat rack and sighed loudly, rubbing her hands over her face. She groaned, frustrated, and threw her hands out helplessly, frustrated.

“I came out to Marie, and for some absolutely _ridiculous_ reason, I feel _nervous_ about having done so.”

John nodded, patient and reasonable in exactly the way that Shirley had come to love.

“Could it just be that you haven’t actually come out to someone for a while? I mean, all of your acquaintances already know you’re gay, obviously. You’ve never been on unsafe territory with them.” John shifted his weight onto one leg, “I get it, I really do. I feel nervous coming out to people sometimes, for no reason.”

Shirley glared, and started to make his way towards the kitchen. “I’m not _you,_ Watson. I’m _me,_ and I’m not usually like this.”

“I know.” John replied, unfazed by Shirley’s aggravated tone. “It’s just a suggestion.”

Shirley went for the coffee immediately, pouring herself a cup.

“What if,” John leaned against the cabinet, holding out his mug, “you have feelings for Marie?”

Shirley took his mug, glaring. “That’s preposterous.”

“Are you sure?”

“I consider you to be a relatively intelligent man, Watson, don’t let me down now.”

John smiled affectionately, and did not reply. Shirley didn’t meet his eyes again.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imagine a male version of Lucy Liu like wOW i need that in my life  
> (fyi, I only made John Japanese-American because the muse has a particular fondness for Japanese-American men ;D I am aware that Lucy Liu is not Japanese)


	3. Chapter 3

Shirley sat next to Marie on the couch, throwing cards into the Stanley Cup. It was hardly fair, how the situation had ended; Marie, from what Shirley had been able to discern, had genuinely liked Detective Seanna Scott. It was a shame that her moral view of Internal Affairs had so quickly unravelled such a relationship– Shirley, for her part, regretted that it had been her insight which lit that match.

 _Still_ , she reasoned, _it would’ve seen the light eventually._

“You really think I’m a lonelier woman than you?” Marie asked, in a musing and curious tone.

“By a factor of ten,” Shirley replied, throwing a card. It landed in the cup.

“It’s just hard, y’know… the hours I keep, meetin’ women…” Marie sighed. “…it’s never easy.”

Shirley nodded, as if pretending she had any such trouble finding willing partners, and glanced beside her at Marie– again. She was wearing a baby blue-coloured dress, a choice decidedly unusual for her, and a light tan jacket that matched her heeled shoes. It was, quite plainly, part of a failed plan to entice Detective Scott into possibly accepting her back. Shirley, somewhat selfishly, couldn’t help but notice the long, slender shape of Marie’s legs, or the way the blue contrasted so beautifully with her skin tone. She was glad Marie was here. She was glad Marie wasn’t at Detective Scott’s house tonight.

She looked back at the cup, swallowing. It was so rare to see Marie’s feminine side, to see her dressed like this, and Shirley was struggling to contain herself, struggling to decide what was more important to her, struggling to decide what she could handle and what she was afraid of. It had been years since she’d felt this way. James Moriarty had left scars that would never heal. But Marie was…

…Marie was everything he had never been.

“’Ey, you good?” Marie asked. Shirley realised she’d been sitting still for a deal of time now. “Or you just havin’ one of your ‘mind palace’ moments?”

Shirley licked her lips slowly. She threw a card, missed, and let her hands fall into her lap. Marie was watching her.

“You’re aware that I value our friendship, yes?”

“…Yeah. I mean, you did let me in the door after I broke up with Seanna.”

Shirley nodded. “And you’re aware that it would take an intense situation to cause me to make a decision which could jeopardise our friendship?”

“…What did you do?” Marie’s voice was wary and exasperated. “If you called Seanna over here, I swear to god-”

“This isn’t about Detective Scott.”

Marie frowned. “…Then… what is it about? You wanna enlighten me here?”

It was only when Marie reached over, putting a hand tentatively on Shirley’s arm, that Shirley jerked herself out of her reverie.

“Forget I said anything. Would you like some wine? I believe Watson has some left over from his date the other night.”

Marie’s face was wary, and slightly concerned. “…Sure?”

“Very well. I’ll go get it.” Shirley stood.

“You sure you’re alright with me drinkin’ in front of you?” Marie called after her.

“Of course.” Shirley lied, just happy to be escaping the room.

 

***

 

They didn’t discuss it after the fact, and Shirley was happy to deceive herself into believing that Marie had forgotten about her near-confession. It was for the best, she reasoned; better to have an optimal working relationship and a secure friendship, rather than a romantic entanglement that could possibly end in disaster.

Better to stay safe, after everything that had happened last time she allowed herself to love.

 

***

 

Shirley was getting a coffee from a small café near the Brownstone, purely for the purpose of stretching her legs in the midst of a case. It hadn’t been her idea. Watson had insisted and Shirley, for the purposes of maintaining peace, had relented. She was becoming increasingly aware of the lengths Watson would go to in order to reign her in. It was endearing, more than anything else.

Just as she had finished ordering, she turned from the counter, to see Marie entering the coffee shop. The fact that Marie was looking her steadily in the eyes suggested it was not a coincidence.

“Are you following me?” Shirley asked, approaching her, trying to ignore the dress Marie was wearing, and how divine it made her look. Tight-fitted, deep red. Very unlike her. And she had her hair out, straightened, so that it fell around her shoulders. Shirley wondered what the occasion was.

“Nah,” Marie replied calmly, and Shirley was distracted by her lipstick, “I was comin’ to see you at the brownstone, but I saw you come here.”

“I believe that counts as ‘following’ someone, Marie.” Shirley heard her number called. She held the receipt up to Marie, nodding in the direction of the counter. “Excuse me.”

Marie nodded. “Meet me outside.”

Shirley nodded back as she turned to go and retrieve her coffee, wondering what on earth Marie wanted, and why she had to suffer seeing her looking so beautiful when she very clearly could not have her.

 

When she met Marie outside, it was plain that Marie was nervous. She was fidgeting, looking at Shirley with guarded, nervous eyes.

“I take it,” Shirley began, “you’re on your way to reunite Detective Scott?”

“What?” Marie frowned. “No.”

“…Right.” Shirley sipped her coffee. “Then why are you dressed like that?”

Marie considered Shirley for a long, silent moment. Then, to the shock of Shirley, she stepped forward, reaching out a hand, and held Shirley’s neck tenderly as she kissed her.

The kiss lasted no more than two seconds, soft and gentle and everything Shirley had imagined it would be. When Marie leaned back, Shirley knew her eyes were comically wide, knew her cheeks were pink, knew she looked like some kind of a college virgin who had never kissed before. She tried to rearrange her expression, tried to keep the shock from her face, and felt a sweeping sense of dismay when all she managed was a stunned blink.

“It’s hard for you, right?” Marie asked quietly. “Relationships. Since Moriarty.”

Shirley swallowed. “That… doesn’t explain why you just kissed me.”

Marie smiled, fondly amused. “You ain’t the only one who can deduce the truth, honey.”

“I…”

“It’s alright.” Marie stepped away, hand falling to her side. “I know this is hard for you. That’s why you couldn’t tell me before. You can take your time and come to terms with it. It ain’t gonna change nothin’ ‘bout how we work together in the meantime.”

“Do you mean to say,” Shirley began, voice strained and tense, “you wore that outfit… for me?”

Marie smiled self-consciously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Don’t usually do stuff like this, but… I dunno, I really like you, so…”

Shirley considered it a miracle she’d managed to hold onto her coffee as opposed to dropping it out of sheer shock. “You… what?”

“I like you.” Marie raised an eyebrow dryly, grinning.

Shirley stared at her, unable to formulate words, unable to think past the impossibility, the ludicrousness, of this situation. She had never believed she could possibly get what she wanted, never believed that it would be possible have this woman want her. This beautiful, strong, capable, crudely independent woman, that was so unlike Shirley and represented everything Shirley would never be able to be.

She stepped forward, back towards Marie, and kissed her back.

“Is that a yes, then?” Marie asked, somewhat breathlessly, when their lips parted. Shirley could taste lipstick, could feel Marie’s breath against her face.

“Can’t you tell?” Shirley asked.

Marie grinned against her mouth, and they kept kissing.

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Her slender body was white in the dim room, black tattoos stark against milky white smoothness. The insides of her elbows were peppered with track marks, but her arms were long and lithe, and her face was sculptured, more handsome than pretty. Her eyes were large and dark. Her gaze seemed to be taking in the entire world, seeing everything that it had to offer, absorbing and cataloguing everything before her.

She seemed surreal. Ethereal.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” Marie drawled.

Shirley looked up at Marie, her gaze dry and amused. To her, the compliment seemed humorous–simply because, comparatively, she felt it was undeserved. Marie’s hair was braided back, the hairstyle accentuating her strong jaw and sharp, angular cheekbones. She was wearing a fitted white singlet, and it clung to her muscular chest, curved around her thick shoulders. She was strong, fit, and powerful.

Shirley reached out, watched their skin touch, dark against white.

“Not as gorgeous as you,” Shirley replied quietly.

Marie grinned, pulled her into a kiss.

 

***

 

Marie reached behind her, the muscles in her back and shoulders coiling as she pulled up the zipper of her pastel blue dress. Shirley watched the movement keenly.

“A special occasion?”

“Yeah,” Marie replied, turning around and running her hands over her braids, “I’m catchin’ up with Andrea today.”

Shirley nodded thoughtfully, though she’d already known Marie was meeting her sister today. She was slowly learning to be conversational for the point of conversation. It was a work in progress, but Marie was being very helpful– and, to Shirley’s utter relief, she was not fond of small talk either.

“I like that dress.” Shirley ran a hand down her chest, over her small but shapely breasts. Over the snake tattoo that coiled around her left nipple.

“I know you do.” Marie replied with a sly grin. “You’re just gonna have to wait until after my lunch date.”

“You could go on a date with me instead.”

“Yeah?”

“I could take you to Franzeze’s. The Italian restaurant you like.” Shirley folded her hands behind her head, let her legs fall open. She grinned when Marie’s eyes wandered downwards.

“Or,” Shirley continued, “we could just stay here.”

"Sometimes your passion for pussy really stuns me. I mean,  _me._ You shock  _me."_

"Good to know I impress you."

"I didn't say 'impress'."

"You meant it, though," Shirley ran her tongue over her lower lip, "didn't you? You like what we do. You like the way I touch you. You needn't lie to me, it's not very effective. Just admit that you'd rather stay here than go out to lunch with your sister."

Marie shifted her weight onto her left leg, tilted her head thoughtfully. She stared for a long moment, meeting Shirley’s eyes with a mischievous grin. It was some kind of contest. Some kind of showdown.

Marie sighed in amused defeat, and reached behind her. Shirley smiled wider when she heard the sound of a zipper moving.

“Guess I better tell Andrea I’m gonna be late.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
